by TW Powell
The Reaper’s Return
About 11 a.m., the first school bus parked out on NV 376 exploded in a massive fireball as a Hellfire missile strike detonated the residual CNG in the bus’s gas tank. The Reaper drone made a wide banking turn, commencing its attack run on the second school bus. The remote pilot was sitting behind Reaper’s control console in an air conditioned, hardened bunker down at the former Creech Air Force Base in Indian Springs, Nevada.
Big Sid yanked the tarps off Huey as the explosion echoed up Kingston Canyon. Jo was catnapping in the left seat and Apache was doing likewise in the right. Huey was already lifting off as Junior and Juan leapt inside.
Tom and The Skipper were grabbing a bite of lunch under some cottonwoods outside the Aid Station. Moments after the first school bus exploded, a roaring tornado swept down Kingston Canyon Road, past the Aid Station.
Amidst the swirling cloud of dust, Tom yelled out, “Slice that bitch once for me, Jo!”
Huey was following Kingston Creek through town, skimming just inches above the Creek’s polished river rock bed. Huey came to an abrupt stop down at Kingston Park, then hovered motionless behind the large cottonwoods.
“Talk to me Apache. Have you acquired that bitch?”
Apache was peering through his binoculars, focusing on NV 376 just south of town.
“There she is. She’s only about 1,000 feet off the deck and she’s taking her damn sweet time.”
Huey sprang from the cottonwoods and headed toward the Kingston airport. The airport remained enveloped in the black acrid smoke billowing from the smoldering hangars.
“Mask on Apache. Junior, you and your tank driving friend best use your bandanas.”
Huey disappeared into the thick, black clouds of smoke. Seconds later, Huey popped out of those clouds at the far eastern end of the runway.
“Hang on girlies, next floor Lingeries.”
Jo popped Huey almost straight up.
Junior just about lost his lunch, “Holy shit, Jo. We can’t shoot if we’re puking our guts out.”
“Stop your whining Darius and prepare to fire.”
“Apache, have you reacquired?”
“We’re in that bitch’s 6. She’s just below us and she’s taking her sweet time lining up on that second bus.”
“Tally ho!”
Jo put the hammer down and Huey swept past Reaper at 200 miles per hour. Juan opened up with the Ma Deuce and Apache and Junior fired their BARs. All that fire initially appeared to miss Reaper, but something struck the Hellfire just as it was leaving the launch rail. The missile exploded, blowing Reaper’s right wing halfway to Deseret. The Reaper barrel rolled off to the east and augered into the valley floor a mile east of NV 376.
Jo quickly took Huey back down into the creek bed and headed back up to Victorine Canyon.
“Jo, where are you going? We got that bitch.”
“Junior, you dumb ass, we got one Reaper. Don’t you think they might send another? Huh?
“OK, but why are we doing all this Nape of Earth bullshit?”
“Hello! Earth to Junior! What if there’s another Reaper up there right now? How about that Global Hawk Sweet Pea Tom was talking about? Now, do you still want me to pop Huey up out of this here creek bed?”
“OK, I’ll just leave the flying to you.”
“Sounds like a good idea. Now, the good news is that you boys somehow lucked out and hit that Hellfire missile just as it went hot off the rails. There’s a very good chance those assholes will think the missile malfunctioned and blew that Reaper all to hell. I want them to continue believing that. So, for now, it’s naptime for Huey.”
The Roadblocks
“Hummer 4 to Porter, loud explosions to the south.”
“Message understood, hold at EastBlock. Porter out.”
“Porter to Dead Eye, take Puma south as far as possible and give us a panorama view.”
“Understood Porter, our kitty is on the move.”
While Adam was sending Puma 1 south, toward Kingston, John Nicolescu raised Tom Jackson on the shortwave.
“Vet to Jarhead. Are we OK down there?”
“We could use some air defense down here. Any way you can send us some kerosene, gasoline, or diesel? Any fuel that’ll run a turbine engine. Check the hardware for paint thinners.”
“Will get you some anti-air, fuel, and other goodies within the hour. Vet out.”
“Castle to WestBlock, two Land Rovers coming our way from the west. No visible heavy weapons. Two miles out.”
“Porter to Castle, identify and eliminate hostiles. Take ‘em out with the Browning.”
Adam spied the Peoples’ Flag painted on the passenger side of the lead vehicle, “Positive ID, hostiles approaching.”
.30 caliber Browning machinegun fire leapt out from The Castle and ripped apart the two Land Rovers while they were still a mile away from the third western roadblock. Both Rover’s CNG tanks exploded, with no apparent survivors.
“Porter to Castle. Are we clear?”
“Clear.”
Porter turned to John, “We’ll probably see some airpower next. Maybe a Reaper, or, heaven forbid, a Warthog. Best we get those supplies on down to Kingston before more company arrives.”
The Stake Out
Two Militiamen were just passing by the old Fallon Stock Yards when they noticed Delvin’s box truck parked under some shade trees.
“Isn’t that Member Smith’s box truck?”
“Hell yes, that truck sure is some kind of green. Look, it even says ‘Smith’s Drayage’ on the side.”
“We better call this in.”
“Dispatch says we should park somewhere out of sight, find us a nice, hidden position, then just relax and observe the truck. They warned me that this dude may be armed. They’re sending us some backup.”
10 minutes later, another half dozen Militia arrived, and they were more heavily armed. They also took up concealed positions. The Militia patiently surveilled the box truck for the next couple of hours to no avail.
“Isn’t that Member Sergeant Thompson’s car?”
“Yes, it is. Lucy is driving and look who’s in the passenger seat.”
As Lucy parked her car next to Delvin’s box truck, three white, unmarked, compact cars surrounded Lucy, blocking any path of escape. A half-dozen Militiamen emerged from the vehicles and leveled their shotguns on Member Smith. The other two Militia pulled Lucy out from behind the wheel, out into the street. Delvin was asked to exit the vehicle with his hands up. Once outside, Delvin was patted down. No weapon was found. Both Slick and Lucy were then cuffed and taken back to the Fallon Militia Post.
Upon arrival at the Militia Post, Delvin and Lucy were sporadically beaten and abused for the next hour, then they were placed together in a bugged cell. Lucy had no idea why she was there.
Delvin whispered in her ear, “Lucy, if you want to live, keep your wits about you. You know this place. You know the drill. Be cool. They’re listening.”
Lucy winked with the eye that wasn’t swollen shut, then smacked Delvin with all her might and screamed, “You no good bastard. What have you gotten me into?”
“Member Sergeant Thompson, I don’t know. I’ve told them that I don’t know you, that we just met this morning. I’ve told them exactly what happened to me last night. Now we’re both under arrest.”
While Delvin was busy getting the holy shit beaten out of himself over in Fallon, Member California Coordinator was in her office, at her desk, overlooking The Bay. Alex’s two loyal bodyguards entered her office unannounced.
“Member California Coordinator please come with us. Due to an undisclosed security threat, we must escort you to a more secure location.”
Alex’s two bodyguards escorted her down the back stairwell to the basement parking garage. A late model black electric limousine pulled up and the taller bodyguard opened the rear passenger side door. The bodyguards then shoved Alex into the front-facing rear seat, and they seated themselves across
from her in the rear-facing rear seat. Then they cuffed her.
“What in the hell do you two cretins think your doing? I am Member California Coordinator Alexis Jones!”
The taller, English speaking bodyguard replied, “You ain’t shit lady.”
The shorter, chubby bodyguard understood enough English to appreciate his partner’s response. He snickered an Adam Jackson type snicker, then bitch-slapped Alex hard across the face.
“Your fucking gigolo, Member Smith, is under arrest. That’s too bad. We sorta liked him, but you’re just another half-breed Vietnamese rice hole.”
Alexis was bloodied and dazed. She sat in silence for the remainder of her short limousine ride to Peoples’ Militia Berkeley Headquarters.
Grandpa John
A Hummer packing a .30 caliber Browning machinegun led the Peoples’ Militia Strike Force departing Carver’s that afternoon. Their orders were to advance north on NV 376. Eliminate any hostiles. Investigate the Reaper crash site and the remains of the school bus destroyed earlier that day. Daylight permitting, they would also comb through the ruins of the three hangars at Kingston Airport, searching for the remains of that mystery rotary winged aircraft. The next morning, they would proceed to Austin and bring it back under The Collective’s control.
About 20 minutes out of Carver’s, that lead Hummer unexpectedly swerved off the road and rolled over several times. The Hummer’s three passengers were shaken and rattled, but the driver was dead. His head had been virtually blown off.
Earlier that day, a Hummer full of supplies had arrived in Kingston. Jo and her gang were busy pouring kerosene, gasoline, xylene, and diesel into Huey’s tank. Tom Jackson was busy training a group of volunteers to operate the Japanese Type 91 heat seeking antiaircraft missiles. Porter had also sent Grandpa John some .50 caliber ammunition for his sniper rifle. As soon as Tom had completed the Type 91 training, he started looking for his Dad.
“Bobby Ray, have you seen my Dad? I’ve got some ammunition for his sniper rifle.
“No Sergeant Jackson, not since this morning.”
“Doc Pham, have you seen my Dad?”
“No, but when I see him, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him.”
Tom made his way out to the paddock. Maybe Dad was out there with his horse, Paladin. When Tom arrived at the paddock, his dad wasn’t there, but his Mom, Betty, was there.
“Thomas, have you seen your father?”
“No Ma, I just started looking for him. Where’s Paladin?
Grandpa John was gone. Paladin was gone. Upon further investigation, Tom discovered that Grandpa’s saddle was gone as was his sniper rifle.
“Dear Lord, I hope Dad isn’t where I think he might be.”
The Solution
Inspector James Wu had been on the road for seven hours. It was late afternoon when he pulled into the Fallon Peoples’ Militia Post. Over the last 7 hours, James had carefully thought through the situation. He had to do this. Before he left his car, James checked his pistol. It was loaded and a round was chambered. He also had some extra magazines. Although it was 95 degrees outside, James put on his long leather coat and fedora. Then Inspector Wu walked into the Militia Post and presented his credentials.
“Inspector James Wu, Chinese State Security. I’m here to interrogate the traitor, Delvin Smith.”
The second watch desk sergeant, Member Franklin P. Lee, immediately dropped his soy baloney and imitation cheese sandwich and rose to attention.
“Comrade Inspector, we were not expecting a visit from Chinese State Security.” The young Black Sergeant’s voice was trembling.
“Why should you be expecting me? The People’s Republic does not broadcast the coming and going of its Security Services.
“What sort of security procedures have you implemented to ensure that this traitor does not escape?”
“Comrade Inspector, this is night shift. I man the front desk. We have three Militiamen out making rounds about town all night long. Our Coordinator has added a 24-hour guard back in the cellblock.”
“Only one guard? Outrageous! You will show me this cellblock and this guard. Any resistance on your part will be duly noted. Do you understand?”
Now, Franklin’s hands were shaking, “Yes, Comrade Inspector.”
Member Sergeant Lee opened the steel door to the cellblock. The guard on duty had nodded off to sleep while relaxing in a swivel chair.
James sternly shouted, “This is what The Collective calls security?”
The sleeping guard jumped out of the chair and rose to his feet.
“What is your name?”
Inspector Wu now had his pen and notepad out, taking names.
Before the half-asleep guard could answer, James interrupted, “Excuse me Member Sergeant Lee, I feel my phone vibrating. May I take this call in private?”
Franklin Lee was anxious to please, “Most certainly, Comrade Inspector. Step into the restroom. We’ll wait for you right here.”
James stepped into the restroom, which was surprisingly clean. He then listened at the door as Franklin gave the sleepy guard a severe tongue lashing.
After a couple of minutes, James took a deep breath, “So far, so good.” Then he left the restroom.
“Member Sergeant Lee, that call was from a secret informant. Traitor Smith’s accomplices are holed up in the old, abandoned Walmart Center just west of town. Your cooperation in this matter would most certainly be noted in your Social Database.”
Member Sergeant Lee immediately radioed the three Militiamen and dispatched them to the abandoned Walmart Center on the far west side of town.
“Don’t forget to warn them that these criminals are most certainly armed and dangerous.”
“Thank you for reminding me Comrade.”
“Now let’s go interrogate that traitor.”
Delvin didn’t react when he saw James with the Desk Sergeant and sleepy guard.
James Wu pointed his pistol directly at Delvin, “I should shoot you now, you filthy traitor, but we will interrogate you first, then you will be denounced. Step back, away from the cell door!”
Delvin stepped back into the rear corner of his cell.
“Member Sergeant Lee, so far, you have been most cooperative. Before we open his cell, are either of you armed? We wouldn’t want the prisoner to grab a weapon.”
Both Members shook their heads, “NO!”
“Very good. I’ll stand back, away from the cell door. Member Sergeant Lee would you and your sleepy friend please enter the cell and take hold of the prisoner? Hold him straight up and we will administer a little preliminary persuasion.”
As the two Members entered the cell, James fired his pistol, striking the sleepy guard in the forehead. As the lifeless guard fell to the cold concrete floor, James executed the Desk Sergeant in much the same manner.”
“Now Captain Smith, you will do exactly what I say. Exactly!”
“OK James, you’ve got the gun.”
“Who is this women in the other cell?”
Lucy had been watching in shear terror as Inspector Wu executed her two coworkers.
“Listen James, Lucy is innocent. She is the graveyard shift Desk Sergeant. She took my statement this morning, then offered me some food and lodging today. She has no horse in this race.”
James locked Delvin’s cell, then unlocked Lucy’s, “Member Lucy, you will answer my questions, or I will execute you just like your coworkers. Do you understand?”
Lucy shook her head yes.
“When you are on duty late at night and need to step away from your desk, what do you do?”
Lucy was trembling and stuttering as she answered, “First, I lock the front door.”
James motioned for her to proceed.
“We have one of those silly clock signs that sticks on the glass with a suction cup.”
“OK, set it for one hour.”
Lucy set the “I’ll be back clock” for one hour and stuck it on the front door.
&nb
sp; “OK Lucy, if we go out the backdoor, will it lock behind us?”
“Yes, it will.”
“Down on your knees.”
As atheist Member Sergeant Lucy Thompson went down on her knees, she whispered a simple prayer as best she could recall from her childhood days.
James pointed his pistol at the back of the helpless woman’s head and slowly began to pull the trigger. Several seconds passed and Lucy continued praying. James did not fire. James just could not do this.
“Stand up and destroy the surveillance cameras and all the digital back up.”
Lucy began smashing everything related to the security camera system, including storage devices. James then walked Lucy back to Delvin’s cell and threw Slick a set of handcuffs.
“Put them on.”
“What do you intend to do with Lucy?”
“Shut up! No questions, Captain Smith. We will walk out the back door together. You and Member Lucy will climb into the backseat of my car. You will remain down in the rear floorboard. You will speak only when spoken to. Then you will answer my questions truthfully, or I will kill you both.”
James’ CSS sedan had many of the same safety features found on police cars, including a heavy wire mesh partition between the front and back seats.
As they headed south on US 95 James began asking his questions, “OK, Captain Smith, or whoever you are, you are Resistance, aren’t you?
Scout Sniper
By virtue of his youth, Adam Jackson had better vision than his Grandpa. But Grandpa had the advantage of combat experience and wisdom acquired with age.
Grandpa John had silently listened as Junior, Tom, and Jo discussed The Collective’s airpower advantage. There was no way the meagre Kingston forces could halt the Peoples’ Militia as they advanced up NV 376. It would be a bloody massacre. No, a stand-up fight was out of the question. A hundred Tom Jacksons, or Josephine Parkers, or Rambros couldn’t prevail against Warthogs, Reapers, and 5-inch recoilless rifles.